Snap Out of It!!!
Snap Out of It!!!
It started as a moment and ended as one too, but instead of having felt good about the situation and its intoxicant inhabitants, I chose to dwell on the less saggy parts of the day, and as a result I puked almost instantly at the thought that living alone took after being divorced after sixteen weeks of marriage.
It took place, like most things, over a course of a number of years at which certain times I referred to them, the years as utterly unforgettable and possibly happy, If I was ever capable of feeling that strongly before.
And I knew that up until this point in my life... Ooh, this gets a bit sticky. I’m speaking in the past now to someone whose now quite young.
I’m sorry if I fooled you with my formalities. (Forever beats against more appreciating beasts to the general time continuum we have and how its ultimately a counter-part as to how we currently feel, at least this month in Quarantine Illustrated.
But after all of that, I knew I still loved him, even if his friendship was always far away, and during the past few months anyway, was always in another time zone when I had the thoughts that absolutely required a phone call at 3AM.
Because everyone had to know how you felt that night, when you saw the Lord demonstrated like that. But not in a sermon, not in the unnecessarily rigid environment of the Lutheran church but in the living room in 1978, that’s what still made him believe in love. It was the nostalgia of remembering a time when Love and Crushes still meant something, and how the sting of a crush could resonate days afterward.
These were things worth mentioning at the end of the day. At night he would light cigars out on the patio staring out at the humidity rising against the cold bay, and he’d catch the ribbon of wind that blocked out the oncoming sunlight, and made him realize how much he had missed the things that made him who he was, happy to live at that level, but embarrassed by it, in the worst sense.
All he saw was suffering all around him, yet of all he knew were prosperous and their hearts filled with the luxurious golden yarns of comfort.
His touch,and his congruent use of speech was, in itself a way of admission. To truly obtain the lease, and free the big man as a sort of beholder, a guard to the great gig in the sky, he must purge the feelings contained within the cool waters of his swim on each subsequent evening.
More often than not it was just what the doctor ordered; the golden ticket that brought us all home like kids, pretending to be adults in the Hospital, when their kid sister is dying.
You don’t really know until you’re outside Julian’s at 3AM, out of your mind on whatever is going 'round. Because for years its not about WHAT, but WHY that matters around these circles, even if people will feel the wrath, and repose, downplay the dread to their students, and eventually children.
Why make one miserable when you infect thousands?
It’s like PR, the way in which spreads like a disease, though you couldn’t see the infection through the calluses of addiction. The way you live through lightning and agree to talk about it on TV afterwards.
It started as a moment and ended as one too, but instead of having felt good about the situation and its intoxicant inhabitants, I chose to dwell on the less saggy parts of the day, and as a result I puked almost instantly at the thought that living alone took after being divorced after sixteen weeks of marriage.
It took place, like most things, over a course of a number of years at which certain times I referred to them, the years as utterly unforgettable and possibly happy, If I was ever capable of feeling that strongly before.
And I knew that up until this point in my life... Ooh, this gets a bit sticky. I’m speaking in the past now to someone whose now quite young.
I’m sorry if I fooled you with my formalities. (Forever beats against more appreciating beasts to the general time continuum we have and how its ultimately a counter-part as to how we currently feel, at least this month in Quarantine Illustrated.
But after all of that, I knew I still loved him, even if his friendship was always far away, and during the past few months anyway, was always in another time zone when I had the thoughts that absolutely required a phone call at 3AM.
Because everyone had to know how you felt that night, when you saw the Lord demonstrated like that. But not in a sermon, not in the unnecessarily rigid environment of the Lutheran church but in the living room in 1978, that’s what still made him believe in love. It was the nostalgia of remembering a time when Love and Crushes still meant something, and how the sting of a crush could resonate days afterward.
These were things worth mentioning at the end of the day. At night he would light cigars out on the patio staring out at the humidity rising against the cold bay, and he’d catch the ribbon of wind that blocked out the oncoming sunlight, and made him realize how much he had missed the things that made him who he was, happy to live at that level, but embarrassed by it, in the worst sense.
All he saw was suffering all around him, yet of all he knew were prosperous and their hearts filled with the luxurious golden yarns of comfort.
His touch,and his congruent use of speech was, in itself a way of admission. To truly obtain the lease, and free the big man as a sort of beholder, a guard to the great gig in the sky, he must purge the feelings contained within the cool waters of his swim on each subsequent evening.
More often than not it was just what the doctor ordered; the golden ticket that brought us all home like kids, pretending to be adults in the Hospital, when their kid sister is dying.
You don’t really know until you’re outside Julian’s at 3AM, out of your mind on whatever is going 'round. Because for years its not about WHAT, but WHY that matters around these circles, even if people will feel the wrath, and repose, downplay the dread to their students, and eventually children.
Why make one miserable when you infect thousands?
It’s like PR, the way in which spreads like a disease, though you couldn’t see the infection through the calluses of addiction. The way you live through lightning and agree to talk about it on TV afterwards.
posted by Kronski | 10:10 PM
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